Chapter Text
The Rak’tika Greatwoods was so cacophonous, you could hardly hear yourself think. At the moment, you were mulling over the startling ease with which Emet-Selch had plucked Y’shtola from the lifestream. The simplicity of it all, the way he had casually snapped his fingers before she materialized, was unnerving. Additionally, the words he spoke as he conjured her wayward spirit, something about her soul’s color, gave you a seemingly random sense of nostalgia. You could not identify why this poignancy had suddenly appeared, and it was bothering you almost as much as the Greatwoods’ sweltering humidity.
You sighed and plopped down on the ground, back resting against a tree’s rough trunk. Laying your head back, you fanned yourself with one hand, and sighed. The heat was getting to you, and the myriad responsibilities burdened onto you because of your new title as “Warrior of Darkness” was equally as exhausting.
Additionally, something in your aether felt off since you absorbed the remains of the Light Warden in Holminster Switch. More often than not you found yourself in some sort of pain: it was usually a headache, but sometimes a sharp blooming pain that radiated from your breast occurred, too.
Of course, there was no one you could confide to. As both the Warrior of Light and Darkness, you must behave as a pillar of fortitude. There was no room for complaints, and you didn’t wish to worry the people of the First, either. What would become of their morale if they learned their vaulted warrior’s strength was waning?
Your eyes began to sting. You inhaled sharply and tried to navigate your thoughts to something else. Something less imminent.
You turned to your left, where your Ascian companion was lounging after his encounter with the lifestream, only to find him gone.
Though you did trust Emet-Selch more after he retrieved Y’shtola, you still felt uncomfortable when he was not in plain sight. You bit your lip, and considered that perhaps he decided to return to Fanow as well. But you could not spot the man’s ridiculous Garlean attire amongst the returning group, nor was he anywhere near them, as far as you could tell.
“Looking for someone, dear hero?”
You let out an embarrassing squeak as you heard the Ascian speak almost directly behind you. Face flushed with embarrassment, you craned your neck to catch a glimpse of the absurdly tall man, his broad back against the side of the tree you were currently resting upon.
Emet-Selch raised an eyebrow, a half-smile forming on his face, and murmured, “I did not think you the type to make such endearing sounds.”
You turned your entire body around to face him and mustered a frown, but your face still burned, and you were so tired.
“I was looking for you, but mayhap next time you could announce yourself in a less surprising manner.”
Emet-Selch’s slouched form towered over you as he made his way towards the front of the tree, that lazy half-smile still present. He crouched down next to you, and you moved over so he could rest his back against the trunk as well. He stared down at the now empty space with brows furrowed, as if confused, and you could not stop the tiny smile that made its way on your face. You pat the ground.
“You should rest. The light is strong, and this forest is unbearably hot. I cannot imagine how you feel with those ridiculous layers of robes on.”
Emet-Selch’s golden eyes seemed to soften for but a moment, and then his facade returned. Sitting next to you, he pressed his gloved hand to his heart in an exaggerated display of shock.
“Is Hydaelyn’s dear child soliciting an Ascian? And here I penned you a beacon of purity and everything good. I would be more than happy to oblige, of course, but—”
You slapped a hand over Emet-Selch’s mouth, though the sheer absurdity of his statement made your lips twitch upwards. You attempted to stifle your laughter, but the Ascian could see through your own performance. He pried your hand off his mouth and gently kissed the back of it, smouldering eyes meeting yours as he did so.
“I do enjoy a challenge, but there is no need to hide, my dear. You truly have the loveliest laugh.”
“Okay, okay, enough!” you concede, managing a chuckle, “By the Twelve, did you manage to inhale pheromones in the three minutes in which I lost you? What’s the matter with you, Ascian?”
That caused Emet-Selch to guffaw, and he crossed his arms as he leaned back.
“I would apologize, dear hero, but I’m afraid I have a good enough reason for this act. You seemed awfully melancholy, and as yet another show of my goodwill, I decided to comfort you.” He scoffed. “As if recovering your friend’s very being wasn’t enough. You’re welcome for both, by the way.”
You startled at the surprisingly candid statement. Your eyes widened and for a moment you stared at him, confusion crossing your face as the nagging feeling that you were forgetting something incredibly important began to claw at you.
“I…” you started, but trailed off, desperately trying to remember. But Emet-Selch was staring at you again, that strange wistful look in his eyes, and you decided to thank him instead.
“Thank you. For both saving Y’shtola and for attempting to soothe me.”
“Attempting? Are you telling me that after that preposterous act you’re still not alleviated?” Emet-Selch rolled his eyes, though he smiled, this one surprisingly genuine. “You mortals are so ungrateful.”
You laughed loudly, and as the two of you sat under the shade of the tree in a comfortable silence, it occurred to you that this was the first time in the past few suns that you were truly content, relaxed. And it was thanks to an Ascian, of all things.
You peered at him out of the corner of your eye. Emet-Selch’s face was tilted up towards the sky, and you wondered if it was uncomfortable for him, laying out here in the intense light for so long.
A detached thought entered your mind: Emet-Selch is beautiful. His eyebrows were impeccably done, and his dark eyelashes fanned his closed eyes. His high cheekbones could have been sculpted by an artisan. Those dark lips looked delectable, and for another absent moment you wondered how he would taste if you kissed him. You considered dragging your thumb across his bottom lip to feel how soft they were, but hesitated.
Emet-Selch was an Ascian, but despite this, you did not wish to make him uncomfortable. You rather enjoyed his company; the glib remarks and sarcastic comments, the roundabout way he went about simple gestures. You instead dropped your hand and carefully adjusted yourself so your side and his touched.
Leaning into him, you shyly rested your head on his shoulder, alert to any signs of discomfort or disgust. Finding none, your eyes slowly closed. For the first time in the past moon, you slept soundly.
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Emet-Selch managed to repress the tenseness that had become an instinctual reaction to touch as they laid their head against his shoulder. They were weakened, somber, in perpetual pain. Even he could sense it through the everlasting tether between them that had become frayed after the fall of Amaurot, after their soul had become sundered.
After a moment, Emet-Selch opened his eyes and glanced down at them. They were curled up into his side and already deeply asleep, their head lolling against his shoulder. One of their hands clutched at his sleeve, and the other lay by his own gloved hand. He resisted the urge to brush a stray strand of hair behind their ear; to kiss their temple; to gather them onto his lap, cradling them against his chest. They were not his beloved Persephone.
They are not my Persephone, but they are disconcertingly similar, he thought, swallowing the painful lump forming in his throat.
How many years had Emet-Selch wandered these cursed, hollow shards searching for Persephone? He would settle for even Persephone’s shade, yet each time, without fail, he turned up empty handed.
One was too brash, their hair color all wrong, and another was too soft spoken. One was dead before he could even deign to observe them. He had seen them fallen in every which way, only to be reborn and agonized for the sake of their sweet mother Hydaelyn, again and again. It was maddening.
But this one….
This hero was almost identical to his bonded soul from Amaurot. Their visage, their personality...the rich cerulean of their soul, the random gold and plum specks that danced around it, even, was the same as Persephone’s. But they would never remember him, or anything regarding their past, for that matter. None of them would.
Emet-Selch sighed. He placed a gloved hand on their hair, stroking gently. They stirred in their sleep, said something he could not decipher, and he shushed them. He managed an arm around their waist and slowly pulled them flush against him.
“Hades…” they murmured, and Hades froze.
Hades dared not hope. Mayhaps he heard wrong. A trick of the Greatwoods, with its coagulated noises and birdsong; the light was rendering him delusional.
Suddenly his robes were too heavy and the sun was far too bright. Sweat beaded down his neck.
They slept soundly still, and he navigated a shaking hand towards their slack face. He considered waking them just to interrogate them about the name they had called in their dreams, but decided against it. They looked too peaceful.
They know not know my true name. They could not know my true name. I heard wrong.
Hades steadied his breaths, attempted to asphyxiate the omniscient remnants of hope and optimism that began to plant their roots in his subconscious.
“Hades…?”
Hades let out a choked noise that was half gasp and half cry. They remembered. They remembered. He thought it impossible; the odds were impossibly low, but this shade remembered his true name. Unbidden tears started pooling in the corners of his golden eyes.
They shifted against him, burying their face in the plush fur of his coat.
Hades decided that upon their return to the waking world, he would ask them about it. Even should they not remember what they dreamt of, the fact that they murmured his name twice proved that somewhere deep in their mind was at least one shard of him; of his true name.
They stirred again and sighed. He squeezed lightly at their arm. Persephone was always calmed by the gesture; perhaps it would calm them too. He kissed the top of their head and for the first time in the entirety of his immortal life, he was at ease, waiting patiently.